Sunday, November 13, 2011

Intermission: A Flash Fiction Piece, Then Back to Our Regularly Schedule New Release Promotion-type Stuff!

I was reminded of this story earlier while on FB, in a thread about werewolves and such. This story relates, and has my all-time favorite joke incorporated into it! And, yes, it is a tasteless joke, but an amusing one as well. Very black humor

So, here, take a gander at "Laughter."

Enjoy!

***

Laughter

By John Claude Smith

Laughter is the best medicine, thought Carl.And he desperately needed a dosage of giggles
and guffaws about now.It’s the only
thing that deterred the desire to kill.

Well, most of the time.

He entered the ironically titled Laughing Hyena Comedy Club seeking to
suppress what his body ached to become, shuffling to a stool shrouded in
darkness at the back of said club.Looking to the stage, he listened to the fidgety comedian.

“So my wife, um…she got pregnant—”

“No fault of yours, eh?”

Carl glared at the heckler.He
hated hecklers.They were never
funny.And Carl needed funny right
now.He needed to laugh.He couldn’t help himself, the acid roiling in
his belly like a tsunami trapped in a water balloon: “Shut up!”

Everybody gazed into the darkness at
the back of the club; the darkness disallowed their perusal.The heckler waved his hand, a mocking
hello.Carl ignored him.

Undeterred, the comedian continued: “Yeah, it w-was my fault.Anyway, when she had the baby there were…complications.”

Carl felt it in his bones, felt it scratching under his skin…

“So, um…m-my wife asks, ‘Can I see my baby?’ and the doctor says, ‘Yes,’
and leads her into a room where there’s a baby on a bed with no arms and no legs…and
she asks, ‘Is that my baby?’ and the doctor says, ‘No,’ and she says, ‘Oh, what
could be worse?’”

The heckler peered pensively into the darkness, itchy to respond.

“So they go into the n-next room and there’s a head on a pillow, and she
asks, ‘Is that my baby?’ and the doctor says, ‘No,’ and she says, ‘Oh, w-what
could be worse?’”

Carl felt it rising in him.He
liked sick and twisted humor.But he
needed the comedian to get to the punch line quicker.He felt himself changing, his snout
elongating, and the pin-pricking rash of bristly hairs pushing through his
skin, shredding his clothes.

“So, um…yeah…they go into the next room and there’s an eye on a
p-pillow, and my wife asks, ‘Is that my baby?’ and the doctor says, ‘Yes,’ and
she says, ‘Oh what could be worse?’ and he says--"

The heckler blurted through his invisible
muzzle: “He says, ‘I suggest you name him Cyclops because—’”

Carl pounced on the heckler, tearing out his belly, pressing powerful
forelegs into the man’s chest while his short hind legs sat clumsily on the man’s
lap.The abrupt attack nailed everybody
to their seats.The comedian’s face went
white.

Naked and satiated, Carl sprinted out the exit as his transformation
from laughing hyena back into man had commenced, derailing the desire to kill…for
now.

After all, laughter is the best medicine.

***

There, that's just a tiny snippet of my writing. Want more? The bigger chunks get deeper, darker...more perverse and weird. You can find some in my collection, The Dark is...er...yeah, you probably know. Check around the blog, it's obvious.